Eternity in an Hour
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: Cas wants to make up for everything he's done. There can't be atonement without truth. Spoilers up to 7.17, "The Born-Again Identity".
1. Every Morn and Every Night

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the boys. Or Cas. Or Lucifer and Michael.

**Author's Note: **This is an early birthday present for Cheryl, who asked for Cas and the boys and a little truth and a load of intensity. So here it is… I did my best. Happy Early Birthday, and I hope you like this! ;-)

**Rating: **PG

**Warnings: **Nothing too serious. Some Hell-speculation. I don't think there's anything particularly offensive, but please use your discretion.

**Summary: **Cas wants to make up for everything he's done. There can't be atonement without truth. Two-shot.

* * *

**Eternity in an Hour**

**Part I: Every Morn and Every Night**

_Joy and woe are woven fine,  
A clothing for the soul divine.  
(William Blake)_

Hell cannot be explained.

Castiel had already known that. Very few Angels descended to Perdition; those who did chose not to talk about it. The knowledge was shared in silence when it was shared at all.

It wasn't about the blood or the fire, the torture or the screaming. Physical pain was a mortal affliction. Angels didn't pretend to understand it or care about it.

What unnerved Angels who ventured into Hell, what terrified them, what made them leave as fast as their wings would carry them and swear that they would never return, was something much more and much less than mortification of the flesh.

It was human souls.

It was the moment when the soul of a good person who had been dragged down by a demon turned dark. It was that split-second, that instant of time when the soul still retained enough of itself to know and be appalled by what had happened to it.

The Cage was that instant stretched out to infinity.

Once, Castiel had felt pity for souls condemned to Hell.

Once, so long ago that it seemed, even to the Angel, like it had been in another lifetime, Castiel had felt pity for Sam Winchester. Pity, sorrow for a man destined to bring disaster upon the world, and perhaps a little smug satisfaction in the certain knowledge that Sam – tormented Sam, doubting Sam, dark Sam – was never going to earn Heaven, no matter how hard he fought what was meant to be.

Once, Castiel had been a fool.

He hadn't known Sam long when he'd begun questioning. That Sam was tormented, he knew; that Sam doubted, he was certain. That Sam was dark he couldn't quite believe. It had never seemed less likely than when a boy – the boy they had once reviled as the Antichrist – loved his brother so fiercely and passionately that he took on Lucifer, and won.

Angels did not know fierceness and passion. Their love for their Father was all-encompassing, but, like everything else about them, it was untroubled. It had none of the tumult and confusion and desperation of the bond Sam and Dean shared. Cas didn't fully understand that bond – didn't understand how creatures whose time was so brief could share something so profound – but he knew better than to underestimate its strength.

Castiel understood now.

Hell was deep and dark. Hell was torment.

Hell was doubt.

And it was a miracle the Angel wouldn't have believed possible that Sam, with his fragile human soul and his mortal weaknesses, had survived nearly two centuries of it without being twisted into something unrecognizable.

Sam was still Sam.

It made Cas believe that perhaps his Father _hadn't _completely abandoned them.

It had been eight and a half weeks since he'd taken upon himself the burden of Sam's memories.

He hadn't wiped them completely from Sam's mind – that would have been impossible – but he had pushed them away. Sam would always remember the Cage, he would always have moments when the glint of sunlight on snow seemed like the endless ice of the lowest circle of Hell, he would always have days when he woke up feeling like Lucifer was watching him from some dark corner of the room. But never again would those memories destroy Sam's mind.

It was the best Cas could do.

He hadn't known what to expect when he touched Sam's mind.

He'd known he would find out what the Cage was like. He'd known it would be terrible, far worse than the worst things he had seen in Hell. Far worse, even, than the brief glimpse of the Cage he'd had when he retrieved Sam's body.

But nothing could have prepared Cas for the reality of it.

In an instant, his mind had gone from silence to… a different silence. It had been an oppressive silence, full of whispers that felt like fingers of frost on his skin. _Betrayer_, the whispers had said. _Traitor. Renegade. Despoiler of innocence. Destroyer of hope._

Castiel shuddered_, _trying to gain some semblance of control.

It had taken some time, but eventually he'd understood the nature of the Cage.

There was physical torture, of course, but that was physical torture devised by Lucifer and Michael to keep themselves amused and work off the frustration of being forced to spend eternity in each other's company. Sam's memories of being slowly disembowelled, of being torn to pieces by Hellhounds, of having his chest carved open and his still-beating heart removed before his horrified eyes, were just memories. Castiel's vessel had known physical pain – he felt a moment's fleeting pity for Jimmy Novak – but Castiel himself never had.

But the Cage had been built to contain an Archangel, not to torment a man.

The Cage was in the mind.

Cas had realized that in the first hour.

The Cage _was _the mind. How else would one contain Lucifer the Lightbringer?

Certainty – certainty of right, truth and justice, certainty of the goodness of their Father – those had been the gifts God gave the Angels. He hadn't given them free will or taught them independent thought. He'd given them Peace, and kept Freedom for Men.

The Cage tore away that certainty. It was a mirror that reflected your thoughts and your actions and your innermost being. It showed you the sum and substance of your life, and by its very nature it made you question the fundamental truths that had shaped your choices.

_Renegade. Despoiler of innocence._

For eight and a half weeks, Cas had seen his life, millions upon millions of years condensed to a few choices. Choices he'd never even known he'd _had_, leave alone been conscious of making; choices that had been offered and made long before two stubborn boys and a gruff old hunter had taught him about free will.

Eight and a half weeks, and Cas could finally _think_ again. Eight and a half weeks was how long it had taken for all his Angelic power to break the hold that even the second-hand memories of the Cage had on his mind.

And Sam was only a mortal, and he had _lived _the Cage.

Cas was still an Angel in substance, but in spirit he'd drifted from the faith, obedience and belief that marked his brothers. He had rebelled against Heaven and felt the thrill of faith rewarded when the Cage closed over Lucifer and Michael. And Sam and Adam. Cas had tried to make Dean see that a world without the threat Lucifer hanging over it was a _good_ world, but all Dean had seen was a world that no longer contained Sam.

In the past eight and a half weeks, Cas had been forced to question everything he knew. His Father's will. His brothers' intentions. Destiny. Fairness. Bobby Singer. Dean. Sam.

Somewhere in those weeks, with Lucifer's laughter ringing in his ears and his own life flashing inexorably through his mind, Cas had begun to see. He'd learnt to _feel_ something so alien to his kind that it had taken him some time to identify it.

Castiel felt remorse.

_Destroyer of hope._

And now, now that he had beaten back the sounds of the Cage with sheer force of Angelic will, now that he was himself again, he had another choice.

This time, he would make it in the full knowledge of what he was doing.

* * *

It was Dean he needed to speak to first.

That was the coward's way out. Cas was under no illusions about himself anymore. He didn't want the calm acceptance of his confession that he knew would come from Sam. He wanted – needed – to face fury, perhaps even violence, if only to make him feel like allowing himself to be punched in the jaw had helped him, in some small way, begin to atone.

That was the coward's way out, and Cas knew that he might never equal Sam's courage. Cas had died for what he believed in, secure in the unshakeable belief that he was doing his Father's will, even if in an unorthodox fashion. He'd risked his life to put the Leviathans back in Purgatory. It had failed, but he had tried. He'd risked his mind to restore Sam to a semblance of sanity.

But to face his own mistakes, to deal with the knowledge of his own frailty… That took a different sort of courage, the sort Angels had never needed. To die was easy; Castiel knew that now. What was difficult was to live and atone.

Sam and Dean already knew that Cas was… better. Meg had called him as soon as she'd realized. Cas had half-hoped that they would come see him, but he'd known they wouldn't. Their task was too urgent, the need to track down the Leviathans and send them back to Purgatory too burning. Once again the future of the world hung in the balance.

And Castiel, good friend though he was – or had been, before, in that moment of mad hubris, he had destroyed Sam's mind and placed himself above God – wasn't enough to distract the Winchesters from their mission. If they ever paused, it was only for each other.

Cas wished he could have that bond. He was close to the boys, especially Dean. They were his friends; they cared about him; they would willingly die for him. But, again, he was under no illusions. They didn't need him the way they needed each other; he didn't give meaning to Dean's life; Sam didn't secretly long for his approval.

He was just Cas.

Perhaps that was why Dean had been so… calm.

Cas called Dean.

"I need to speak to you," he said, without preamble, as soon as Dean picked up.

"Sure," Dean said easily. "Just let me get –"

"Not Sam. Just you."

Dean's next words were stiff. "Cas, I don't know if you have issues with Sam, but I have to tell you, after what happened, you've got no right to suggest –"

"_No_," Cas said quickly. He _hadn't_ been suggesting that he didn't trust Sam. "No, that's not what I meant. It's not like that. I have to speak to Sam. You said I'm here to fix things. I can't heal Sam completely but there's one thing I _can _do. There's something I have to tell him. I'm just not sure how to do it. So I need to speak to you first."

"Oh." Dean seemed to be thinking. "So this isn't some crap about you not trusting Sam?"

"It's not, Dean, I promise."

"OK, then. Get over here."

* * *

They were outside the motel room; through the window, they could see Sam sleeping. It was as far as Dean had been willing to get from his brother.

"So, spill," Dean said. "What's this big secret that you need to tell Sam?"

"It might disturb you to hear it," Cas warned, a small part of him hoping that Dean would let him off, Dean would say he and Sam were better off not knowing and Cas could pretend it had never happened.

Dean crossed his arms. "You woke me in the middle of the night and dragged me out of a comfortable bed because you wanted me to _help _you figure out how to tell Sam something. I'm already disturbed, Cas. Just tell me whatever the Hell you need to."

It was a long moment before Cas could speak. "Sam was in the panic room."

"Which time?"

The Angel shivered and cast a glance at the young hunter just visible through the window, face smooth in sleep.

"When you went after Lilith. And you locked Sam in the panic room."

"Yeah. I remember. Go on."

"He got out and killed Lilith and set Lucifer free."

Dean's brows drew together. "Are you here to give Sam more grief about that? Because I have to tell you, he's paid for it about a hundred times over and if you're going to upset him –"

"Dean, _no_," Cas protested, not letting himself feel hurt that Dean really thought he would do that to Sam. Dean didn't listen to reason where Sam's safety was involved. "That's not what I want. Just hear me out." He waited for Dean's nod before he went on. "You blamed Sam for setting Lucifer free. So did the Angels. But it wasn't entirely Sam's fault."

"I know that," Dean said coolly. "There were sixty-five other seals that Sam _didn't _break. Hell, I was the one who broke the first one and started it all."

"That's not what I mean. Killing Lilith… It wasn't entirely Sam's fault."

Dean frowned. "Keep talking."

"Didn't you ever wonder how he got out of the panic room?"

"I assumed he used his mojo to get himself out – not like Bobby and I knew exactly what to do to keep him contained; there's no manual on humans who are high on demon blood. But I'm guessing that that's not true."

"No. I knew you thought that, and I let you think it… But it's not true." Cas waited. When no remark was forthcoming from Dean, he added, "I let him out."

The silence stretched unbearably.

Finally Dean repeated, face unreadable, voice expressionless, "You let him out."

"Yes."

"You – let me get this straight – you _knew _that demon bitch had been messing with his head, you _knew _killing Lilith would bring on the Apocalypse, you _knew _he wasn't thinking clearly. And you let him out of the panic room."

"Yes."

"Because you wanted him to kill Lilith."

"It was necessary."

"Yeah? And how about the part where you treated Sam like an abomination, where you let _me _stay pissed at him for _months_ for doing something that _you_ pushed him into doing? Was that necessary too?"

"You're angry," Cas said.

"You _think_?" Dean growled. "And now… What? You want me to figure out a way to tell Sam this that'll result in him _not _thinking you're as bad as the rest of those lying, two-timing sons of bitches? At least they had the decency to be honest about what they wanted."

"Dean, I understand."

"Do you? Really? Do you have any idea how much grief I gave Sam about trusting Ruby? And now I find out that it was worse trusting _you_."

"That's not fair. I'm not a demon, Dean."

"Maybe not, but you…" Dean trailed off, took several deep breaths, and started again. "You let Sam out. And not only did you let me believe that that whole last seal thing was entirely his fault, you _encouraged _me to believe it. And you let _Sam _believe it. You have any idea of the kind of things I _said _to him then?"

"But you're on good terms now. Sam hasn't held it against you."

"That doesn't make it right." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "Even when I really _did _think he'd Swayzed his own way out of the panic room, it wasn't right, and now… Screw you, Cas." Dean turned away.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I _want _to talk to Sam, I just… I don't know how."

"Yeah?" Dean turned back for a moment, his face a mask of fury. "You think Sam _knew how_ he was going to take Lucifer down? You think he _knew how_ he was going to endure being tortured in the Cage forever? You think _I _knew how I was supposed to live without my little brother?"

"But it turned out well!" Cas protested desperately. "Sam's back now, as whole as he _can _be. I was wrong to do it, Dean. I know that, and I can't tell you how deeply I regret it. But don't you realize that if I hadn't done it, if Sam _hadn't_ been the one to let him out, Lucifer might not have been that insistent on Sam as a vessel?"

"I'm sorry, is this supposed to be making me _not _want to fry you?"

"Sam _had _to be Lucifer's vessel. That was what my Father wanted. It was more important than you realized even at the time. You thought it was about brothers, and it was, a little, but that wasn't all. Sam had to be Lucifer's vessel because nobody else could have defeated him and pushed him back in the Cage."

"Cas, I'm about _this _far from burning you in holy oil, so –"

"Dean, you have him back fully now –"

"No thanks to you."

"Where are you going?" Cas asked as Dean strode towards the motel room door.

"I'm going to talk to my brother."

"Dean!" The Angel followed the hunter into the room. "Dean, I'm sorry. I know you're angry –"

"Shut up." Inside the room, Dean stood still for a moment. Even in the darkness, Cas could see tears glinting in his eyes. "Just _don't_, OK?"

After a very brief hesitation, Dean walked around to Sam's bed. As though Sam had sensed his brother's approach, he stirred and opened his eyes. He didn't notice Castiel.

"Dean? What is it?"

Dean didn't respond. Sam sat up, stretching, dropping his feet to the floor, reaching for his cell phone to check his voicemail. It was easy, and normal, and Castiel wondered if _this _was the truest Hell.

"Dean?" Sam had looked up into his brother's face and seen the too-bright eyes, and now he sounded concerned. Maybe even frightened. "Dean, please. What's wrong?"

Dean dropped to his knees in front of Sam, leaning forward to press his forehead to Sam's chest, relaxing a little when Sam's arms came up and curled around his shoulders.

"Cas?" Dean said, his voice muffled by Sam's shirt. "Give us a minute."

* * *

TBC

* * *

You already know what the next chapter's going to be, don't you? *g*

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!


	2. Every Night and Every Morn

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

Thanks to Jackielupin, shimmerinstars, kellywinchester, doyleshuny, cold kagome, SandyDee84, stelladelnordxd, Emmers224, BranchSuper, twomom, agent iz hyper, Phoenix80hp, SPN Mum, BerrySPNFMA, fledglingfeathers, Scribble2Much, Kathryn Marie Black and giacinta for reviewing. I hope you guys enjoy Part II. ;-)

Once again, Happy Early Birthday, Cheryl.

* * *

**Part II: Every Night and Every Morn**

_The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,  
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.  
(William Blake)_

Dean was scared.

He pushed himself closer to Sam, felt Sam's arms tighten protectively around him, felt light, comforting fingers brush his hair.

"Is he gone?" Dean asked after a moment.

"Yeah, he's gone. What's wrong?"

"I screwed up." There. He'd said it. That made the rest of the admission easier. "I let you down."

"Don't be stupid, Dean. You've never let me down."

Dean shook his head. He stayed slumped against Sam for a moment, eyes shut, listening to the steady thudding of his brother's heart. It was a sound he'd known for years, known since his mom's ob-gyn had offered him the stethoscope and said, "Do you want to listen to your little brother, Dean?"

If he let himself, he could almost believe that they were kids again.

He didn't want to move – Sam would be shoving him away soon enough, once he'd heard what Dean had to say.

But Sam was talking. "Dean?" His voice was as gentle as the hand on Dean's head. "Come on, Dean, you're scaring me. What happened? Say something."

"I screwed up."

That was all Dean could think, all his mind had room for. He, Dean Winchester, had screwed up monumentally, and had hurt Sammy, and there was nothing in the world, not even Sam being all soft and soothing and chick-flicky, that could make that all right.

"Tell me."

Sam had lowered his head to whisper that in Dean's ear, and Dean would never, _never _make fun of Sam's questioning-witnesses voice again. That tone was full of sympathy and understanding and the promise that no matter what Dean had done, no matter how _badly_ he'd screwed up, his little brother was going to be right there.

Dean blinked back tears.

"Hey," Sam murmured. "Hey, hey, don't. It's OK, Dean. I'm not going to be mad. And we can fix it, whatever it is. We can deal with it. Just tell me."

"Sammy."

"Dean."

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK."

"You don't even know what I've done yet."

"Doesn't matter. It's always OK. You're still my big brother and I still love you, and there's nothing you can do or say that's going to change that. Now tell me about it." Sam loosened his hold. "And, dude, get up off the floor. You're going to kill your knees."

Dean huffed a laugh and got up, and if he rubbed his eyes surreptitiously on Sam's shirt, Sam didn't say anything about it.

"Tell me," Sam repeated.

Dean sat on his bed, facing Sam, so close that their knees were bumping. That was Sam's fault, the oversized freak; the space between the beds wasn't big enough to contain his stupid long Sasquatch legs.

"Sam," Dean began, and then stopped, not knowing how to go on. He felt a very brief flash of sympathy for Castiel. If _he_, Dean, who'd known Sam all his life and had changed his diapers and bandaged his scraped knees and taught him how to ask a girl out, didn't know how to phrase this in a way that would make Sam not think he was a complete and utter bastard, there was no hope for the Angel.

"Sam," Dean tried again.

"I'm listening."

"You… you remember when you killed Lilith?" Dean heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up, but Sam's face was calm as he motioned for Dean to continue. "I thought… I said you'd let me down."

"Yeah," Sam said, and for the first time Dean heard an undercurrent of tension in his voice.

He steeled himself. "I thought you'd used your demon mojo to get out of the panic room and go after Lilith."

"I know."

"And you did go after Lilith."

"I did."

"But Cas was the one who let you out of the panic room."

"Huh."

Dean waited, expecting more of a reaction. When Sam was silent, he looked up, meeting his brother's eyes in the darkness.

"Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. I was pretty sure it was him. Nice to get confirmation, though."

"Wait, you were sure – you _knew_?"

"I didn't know, but I guessed." Dean must have looked as bewildered as he felt, because Sam sighed. "Look, I know you thought I'd used my powers to get myself out of the panic room, but I knewI hadn't. And the door didn't just open by itself. It couldn't have been Ruby, and that left Cas."

"You knew," Dean repeated numbly. Somehow that made it worse, that Sam had known, or at least guessed, what a screw-up his big brother was and hadn't called him on it because… because _what_? Because that was what Sam expected from him? "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have believed me?" There was no condemnation in Sam's voice, only reason.

Dean flinched. He would have preferred anger. "You're not mad."

"I told you I wouldn't be. Besides, it's not really new information, Dean. You're just confirming something I was pretty sure about already."

"But I let you down," Dean said, feeling like he had to make sure Sam saw that. "I trusted Cas with you and he turned out to be as bad as the rest of them. If I hadn't – if I'd stayed – he couldn't have done it."

"You didn't know."

"Why aren't you pissed?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You _want _me to be pissed?"

"You knew." Dean couldn't get past that. "You knew and you didn't tell me. And you're not mad." It was all making a kind of horrible sense, and Dean's heart was sinking to his toes. "God, _Sam_."

"Dean, what –"

"I knew something was wrong with, you know, soulless you." The words were tumbling out thick and fast. Dean wouldn't have been able to stop them if his life had depended on it. "I knew because _you_ wouldn't have done any of the crap _he_ did. You wouldn't have let me get turned into a vamp just for information. You wouldn't have stood by and _let _Cas torture that kid. You wouldn't have done any of it. That's why I was so mad – I knew something was wrong. I knew it wasn't you in there."

"So you're saying… What? You're saying you want me to be pissed because I'm supposed to think it _wasn't_ you back then? It _was _you, Dean."

"I know that." Nothing mattered now, not Cas, not Dick Roman, _nothing _except making Sam understand. "I know that. I screwed up, Sammy. I'm not even trying to pretend I didn't. God, if you knew, or even _suspected _what had happened and thought you couldn't tell me because I wouldn't believe you… That right there. _That _is how badly I screwed up. Sam, _please_. And you're not even _mad_, it's like that's no more than you _expect _from me."

Sam finally seemed to get it. He leaned forward, resting his hand on the back of Dean's neck and drawing him closer.

"I _was _upset about it, Dean. I didn't know for sure that _Cas _had let me out, but I knew _someone_ had, and it hurt that you never even considered the possibility."

Dean shut his eyes. He'd thought this would be _better_? Now he felt like he'd run over a puppy.

"_Hey_," Sam said firmly. "None of that. Look at me." Dean opened his eyes. "Of course I was upset, Dean. That was a completely screwed-up year. We made mistakes and we hurt each other. I thought we were past it now."

"_You_ said you were sorry. About a zillion times."

"Fair enough."

Sam's hand slid down to Dean's shoulder and then away as Sam sat up. Dean jerked upright, feeling the loss of his brother's comfort like a physical blow.

"Sammy –"

"You hurt me," Sam said evenly. "I don't think you have any idea how much, even now."

"_Sammy._"

"Tell me you're sorry."

"Sam, I'm – God, of _course _I'm sorry. I can't –"

"Tell me you trust me."

"Trust you? Of course I trust you! Who the hell else am I supposed to trust?"

"Good. OK." And then Sam was back, standing over Dean, pulling him into a hug he hadn't even known he needed. "I forgive you."

"That's it?" Dean asked, slumping into his brother's welcoming arms.

"That's it. We're good. We don't have to discuss it ever again. You're still my big brother." Sam hugged Dean tighter. "And I still love you."

Dean nodded, reaching up and tugging Sam down to his knees so Dean could draw him in. He tucked Sam's head under his chin and whispered a promise into his hair. The words were lost, but their meaning wasn't. Sam grasped his big brother's shirt and held on.

* * *

When Dean called Cas twenty minutes later, he was much calmer. He had appropriated Sam's charcoal hoodie, which Sam hardly ever wore anymore and kept only so Dean would have something warm and comfortable to wear when he was sick. Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Sam occasionally sprayed cologne on it and wrapped it around the Taurus for a few days – there was no way the damn thing should smell like his little brother when it had been _months_ since Sam had last worn it.

He wasn't complaining, though.

He was wearing the hoodie, and Sam was standing beside him, and they were OK.

Dean felt remarkably good.

Cas looked from Dean to Sam and back before he spoke. "You told him."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I had to… Except that it turns out I _didn't _have to because Sammy already knew."

Cas stared at him for a moment before turning to Sam, eyes as wide as Dean had ever seen them. "You knew?"

"I suspected," Sam said.

"Sam… Sam, I'm so sorry. You have no idea how much this has been tormenting me. I won't blame you if you can't forgive me, but you have to let me say this. I manipulated Dean and I lied to him – and I pushed you into setting Lucifer free. That was bad enough, but then I let you take all the blame for it, and _that _was unforgiveable."

Sam shrugged. "You were no worse than the rest of them."

Cas flinched as though Sam had hit him. Dean couldn't feel sorry for the Angel, but he understood. There were times when forgiveness was a far greater punishment than anger.

"I wanted to be better than the rest of them," Cas said quietly. "I thought I was."

"Maybe you were." Sam shrugged again. "It doesn't matter. Cas, I'm not mad. I would have been once, but I'm past it now. I've already spent more time locked in a box with Lucifer than I'm ever going to get to spend living. I don't want to waste more time agonizing about what happened years ago. So _this_…" Sam gestured from himself to Cas. "Whatever it is, whatever you think you're trying to achieve, you don't have to worry about it."

Dean shifted closer to Sam, his brother's words making him more determined than ever that he was going to give Sam some good memories to replace whatever twisted lies Lucifer had fed him.

Sam shot him a tiny smile. Dean smiled back. They were in this together.

"Sam," Cas said quietly, "are you really not angry?"

"I'm really not. You're not the only one who learnt something from the Cage. After a few decades of the most inventive tortures Lucifer can come up with, you realize that a lot of things that seemed ridiculously important don't really matter."

Sam turned to Dean with another quick smile, enough to tell him that _Dean_ hadn't been among the things that had stopped mattering. Dean would have felt happy about it that if his mind had had room for anything other than dull horror at the thought of Sam being tortured by Lucifer and _talking _about it so calmly.

He smoothed Sam's sleeve, fingers twitching on the material.

"I wish you were angry," Cas murmured. "It would… ease my mind."

"Really?" Dean couldn't help asking. "Aren't you guys all over the idea of blanket absolution?"

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," Cas quoted. "That was a different situation, Dean. I _did _know what I was doing. And it's a difficult problem… Humans go to priests, but there's nobody qualified to offer absolution to Angels. We seldom find ourselves asking for it."

"It doesn't matter, though," Sam said. "Does it? You don't _need _absolution. There's no Hell for Angels."

"What about the Cage?" Dean couldn't help asking.

"What about it? It's a cage. It was built to contain Lucifer, not to torture him." Sam glanced at Dean. "The _Cage _never hurt me, Dean. Lucifer and Michael did."

Dean resisted the sudden urge to wrap Sam in his arms and hide him from the world that had already hurt him a lot and would probably hurt him a lot more before it was through. Nothing – _nothing_ – could ever be as sweet and wonderful as his little brother.

"I understand now," Cas said. He was looking at Sam, looking _through _Sam. Dean twitched on his brother's behalf, but Sam seemed unfazed. "I didn't before, despite what I saw when I went down to get you out. I thought it was just… torture. That's probably why I couldn't reach your soul. I couldn't even see what was happening to it."

"You weren't meant to see."

"I know." Cas was still looking into Sam's eyes. Sam wasn't flinching. "But I _have _seen now."

"Seen what?" Dean asked.

"The Cage. Lucifer and Michael." He shook his head. "I… barely remember that, you know? I was very young and it was a different time. The earth was new. Michael hadn't been warped by his blind belief in destiny and Gabriel hadn't decided to abandon Heaven to be a Trickster."

"Is there a point to all this?" Dean demanded brusquely.

"The point is that I was – _we _were – wrong about many things. Sam _was_ meant to be Lucifer's vessel, but it had nothing to do with darkness."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you outside. Nobody else could've taken the Devil down, so you decided that my little brother had to throw himself into Lucifer's Cage to prevent an Apocalypse that _you guys_ started because _you _were incapable of doing it yourself. Does that cover it?"

"Dean, I know I was wrong –"

"You don't know jack squat. I trusted you with Sam. Do you _realize_ what that means? I _trusted _you with my brother when he was recovering. You know how many people I've ever trusted to take care of Sam when he can't take care of himself? Two. Me and Dad. And sometimes not even Dad. I trusted you with _Sam_ and you let me down."

Cas seemed a little relieved that Dean was yelling at him, like _that _was something he knew what to do with. Dean bit back a curse.

"Dean," Sam interjected.

Dean glanced at his brother. They had spoken about this before Dean had called the Angel. Dean had poured out his feelings of betrayal and rage to the one person he could trust never to hold anything against him. Sam had listened, reassuring Dean with his presence but not trying to stop the flood of words.

Suddenly, Dean wanted nothing more than for this to be over.

Sam met his eyes with understanding that warmed Dean from the inside. Whatever he did, whatever he said, his little brother would still think he was awesome.

He found himself, not for the first time in his life, feeling sorry for everyone who didn't have a Sammy.

Dean turned back to Cas, who was watching him expectantly.

"I'm pissed," he said. He didn't try to keep the anger from his voice. "I'm not even going to _try _to pretend I'm not. Sam can be as noble and forgiving as he wants, but I'm pissed. I could've overlooked anything you did to _me_, but _Sam_…"

"I understand, Dean."

"If you _ever _hurt my brother again –"

"I _won't_," Cas said quickly. He sounded like he meant it. "Dean – _Sam_, I regret everything that happened more than I can say. If you don't believe anything else I ever tell you, believe that."

Sam nodded, but he didn't speak.

Dean looked at his brother, got a tiny, encouraging smile, and started again. "If it were anyone else, I would've killed them by now. But… We've fought together. You've helped us. You've done a lot of terrible things, but you've also helped us." Cas looked hopeful. Dean shook his head. "I'm not… Look, I don't know if things can ever be the same between us."

"I'd like them to be," Cas offered. His tentative smile included Sam, and Dean felt himself unbend just a little.

But it wasn't enough.

"I'm not… No, I'm _trying_ not to be mad," he told Cas. "But unlike the Jedi Master here, it might take me a while."

"I understand."

"I don't know how long we have. The world's going to hell again, there are monsters and demons, there's Dick, and considering that this is _our _lives I'm pretty sure that even if we find a way to gank Dick there'll be something else just waiting to take his place." Dean rubbed his fingers on the hoodie. "But right now I've got Sam, and that's something I once thought couldn't happen. So I don't want to waste time hanging on to grudges."

Cas nodded. He looked a little disappointed, but not surprised. "Are we ever going to be friends again?"

"I don't know," Dean said honestly. He wanted to say yes. He and Sam had few enough friends that it would be good to keep the ones they could. And Dean _could _have forgiven Cas anything – except deliberate harm to Sam. "Ask me later."

Even as Castiel vanished with a rustle of wings, Dean was turning and stepping blindly into arms that he knew would be open for him.

"I'm here," Sam breathed, promise and assurance.

Dean finally let the tears come.

* * *

The End

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